


A Shy Smile in the Flood

by kangelique



Series: Shelter in the Rain [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Internal Conflict, Musicians, Rain, Sadness, Secret Admirer kind of, Shy Killian, Singer Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Singer Emma Swan, They're both in college but both scenes don't play out there, inspired by songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-29 00:31:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangelique/pseuds/kangelique
Summary: Emma and Killian are both broken, both lovers of music, and both secretly in love with each other...or with each other's voices, that is.The first time is in November. Influenced by the memories that haunt him day in and night out, Killian chances going to the University's theater for some solace. Instead he finds a beautiful blonde woman whose singing stops him dead in his tracks -there's just one problem: he never gets her name.The second time is in December. Directed by the need to play but fearful of the emotions that spark up when she does, Emma accidentally comes across a British voice and a strumming guitar. But he sings about a golden girl. It couldn't possibly be her. His heart belongs to another- Doesn't it?





	A Shy Smile in the Flood

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so originally this was supposed to be a small one shot and then it kind of got away from me and turned into something deeper. I want you guys to know that the point of this series is not only for the main weather to be rain, but I'm also heavily focusing on internal conflict and hence why there might be so much slow burn.

**A Shy Smile in the Flood:**

 

Emma was pissed.  _Beyond_ pissed. She was everything that came after pissed, she just...she just kind of felt like falling apart. But crying wouldn't do her any good, now would it? It wouldn't do her any favors on her appearance either. It was bad enough she'd sprinted out of her dorm like the room was on fire precisely two minutes after staring at the big fat  _F_ that had been printed on top of the paper she'd worked her ass off for three weeks straight in a bright sparkling red, causing her to forget the ever-constant leather jacket she  _never_ let herself forget.

 

That was just her luck though. She decided right then and there that she absolutely detested Professor Mills and everything about her, from the way she taught to the way she spoke and the way she dressed to the way they interacted -which always ended up being less than pretty. But what more could she have expected from the uptight bitch? Emma swore she was out to get her, and that  _Perhaps next time, Miss Swan_ was proof itself that she was reveling in her failure. 

 

Emma sighed. So maybe she should have thought this through, given herself time to breathe, blink away the hard crushing disappointment that felt eerily similar to when she'd broken up with Neal, just another hint to something else that went wrong. It brought up the usual haunting questions that she'd never gotten closure on, like  _Was I not good enough? Could I have done more? Should I have tried more?_ and despite having long since accepted that they were over, completely and finally now, no second chances, the memories of the short time they were together still left a bitter taste on her tongue as she straightened up from her slouching position on the seat of the bus and realized that "Fuck..." it was raining. 

 

She cursed her luck again and again, but it was useless to get herself any more worked up on anger that she already was, so she just muttered to hell with it and quickly stood up to dash out the doors and into the waiting storm that had seriously formed out of freaking nowhere, but that was just Chicago weather, wasn't it? Coming up with the most unpleasant surprises. Probably some forecast of this crap had been said on the news a few days ago, but Emma was too busy trying to keep her life and scholarship together to stop and question whether or not they were right about mother nature this time. 

 

_Looks like they were._ She grit her teeth against the harsh wind that practically blasted her way the second she stepped foot onto the broken, uneven pavement outside. It was a miracle she didn't stumble back, but goddamn was this whole situation a joke. It was like experiencing a real dust bowl in the flesh and blood with the way the wind forced all the raindrops to blow and fall in one specific direction that just so  _happened_ to be where she was staggering forward with an arm up to cover her face from that droplets that felt like fucking rocks hitting her exposed skin as she protectively hugged the binder with all her important research to her chest. 

 

Emma squinted -not only because she'd abandoned her glasses in her mad dash, but because it was impossible to see and yet she somehow managed to make out the old, antique building that was her destination like a safe haven in the middle of all this shit that was rapidly dwindling the little determination she had to restore her grade to its former glory. 

 

Finally,  _Finally,_ she reached the concrete stairs leading up to the library, and where she normally wouldn't mind doing the mountain climb on a warm summer day, TODAY she did mind but did her best to run up like the athlete she was with strands of wet hair that stuck unattractively to her cheek and across her face, and clothes that were soaked to her very bone and made her body shiver uncontrollably, slowing her down on the way up.

 

So maybe she shouldn't put such high faith and appreciation on a simple red leather jacket that could be found anywhere, but without it, it suddenly made this trek a hell of a lot harder. Maybe it was stupid, but to her it was her anchor, what kept her grounded to the new Emma that wasn't the naive girl who'd fallen in love so fast and so easy, the reminder that she was her only true and real steady in a world of people who'd walked out on her one way or another. So to not have that assurance, that security right now, was all that she needed to feel weak again and incapable of all she thought she'd been close to accomplishing -the rain itself a reflection of the tears she still definitely wanted to cry, but not right now. 

 

Just. Not. Right. Now.

 

Getting a good, hard grip on the handle, Emma flung the door open with a little more force that she intended and then shut the door behind her with a little more force that she couldn't help  _but_ intend, feeling every bit the disgusting wet dog in her current miserable state. 

 

She was pretty sure everyone in the library staff was staring at the crazy woman who'd just entered, but she didn't care. 

 

How much worse could she look on the outside than she already felt on the inside?

 

CSCS

 

It had been a quiet peaceful day to say the least. The only sound that broke through his entranced bubble once or twice was the rain falling mercilessly outside, heavy drops pounding on the fragile windows that kept them secure in the old library, and a raging wind that  only now and again made its presence known when the aged building seemed to shake and rattle in its battle against the offensive weather -not that Killian minded. The raining itself was like a comforting background noise he had grown used to, constructed from the many years he had sat alone with a mere book for company awaiting his brother to come home.

 

"Here's a few more books Belle wants you to arrange on the shelves." Ariel said with a huff as she let said books fall unceremoniously onto the top empty shelf of the rolling cart he was supposed to be arranging. Killian snapped his head up for a second, giving a simple hum of actknowledgement before returning to the book he was currently lost in. "Seriously, every time I come back you're reading, do you never get tired?" she leaned forward with her hands cupping her cheeks like a curious child and released a small sign of exasperation, a furrow in her brow. 

 

Killian tore his eyes away from the sentence he'd been on to smirk up at her. "Sorry to disappoint lass, but no."

 

She sighed again and he was further convinced this wasn't the job for her. Poor dear Ariel was a fidgety lass, an observation he'd acquired in the past three weeks since she started working here. He would make a game for the number of times she'd sighed already, much amused. 

 

"It's been  _such_ a slow day," she whined. "How are you not bored?"

 

"Perhaps because I'm taking advantage of all the books we are currently surrounded by."

 

"You're a nerd and you know it."

 

"Deny a man the chance to defend himself, will you? That's bad form, I'll have you know, making such large assumptions based on the few hours you get to see me whenever you grace us with your presence on this dreadful, dreadful Thursday."

 

Ariel laughed. "You're super dramatic, are you sure you're not-"

 

Suddenly the door was flung open and whatever nonsense tease Ariel was about to say was cut off by the violent and ear-shattering  _Bang!_ that pulled both her and Killian's attention to the entrance of the quaint little place that moments before you could have heard a pin drop if there was no carpet covering every inch of the floor. Curiosity piqued, Killian marked his spot on the page and closed the book. He pulled himself up with a small sigh -a bit irritated that his reading and the silence, with which he'd so very much been relishing in, was disturbed-and then practically stumbled into the cart in his utter shock.

 

Because there, just a few feet and talking distance away, was the mysterious blonde woman whose voice had captivated him the second he'd stepped foot into the theater and never came out the same bloody way again thanks to her and the song that shook him to his very core with the raw emotion she had sang them that one fateful day he'd walked in to finally pick up the guitar and do some singing of his own only to come upon this siren instead.

 

He still remembered the words of the one particular song that made him stop in his tracks because the lyrics were something unfathomable, and at the same time he felt every ounce of pain that she poured into the keys of the piano in that way he couldn't quite comprehend, but all he knew for sure was that he needed to hear that voice again. He'd even tried to recapture the soft forlorn melody she'd played from pure memory after she'd gone and he'd emerged from the shadows like the coward he was, but it was futile and he regretted having let her slip away from his grasp the minute the door had closed and he was left alone in the darkness of the rows.

 

Except now it appeared that he'd been gifted a second chance and what a damn fool he would be if he didn't take it.

 

"Wait, did you just gasp?"

 

Ariel's inquiry seemed to break the entrancement he'd been in and a deep red giveaway blush rushed to fill his cheeks with the realization and embarrassment that he had, indeed, gasped.

 

"Oh my god, you did! And ooh, you got so red -like a tomato," she giggled and he groaned,  _of course the little mermaid had to speak these things out loud._

 

"Bloody hell, lass, would you like to make it more obvious?" he chastised as he took her gently by the arm and led her away from the rolling cart to hide behind one of the fuller and neatly arranged bookcases to their right, his heart thumping erratically with sudden nerves for this girl who'd unknowingly crept into his poems and rendered him speechless despite neither of them having even uttered a sentence to one another. 

 

Ariel rolled her eyes and shrugged, shamelessly creating a small window by parting the books aside to give them a view to where his mystery girl still stood, wet and dripping and looking every bit beautiful even as the expression on her face suggested otherwise. "It's not my fault this is the most exciting thing that's happened all day, It's like a graveyard in here. I for one appreciate her dramatic -and a little bit angry-entrance if it means I don't have to just sit around watching you read book after book, gaining more knowledge than an actual love-life. Now I can just sit around and watch you flirt!" she grinned.

 

"Might I remind you, darling, not all of us are granted high school sweethearts like you and the Eric fellow."

 

"Well it's not easy now with him being away in the Marine Corp half the time and me being stuck with you, but we do it. We get through it, and besides she could end up becoming your college sweetheart if you just stopped blushing so much and asked her out because you _totally_ like her."

 

"I don't recall asking for your opinion..." he grumbled.

 

She ignored this. "So when did you first see her?"

 

"You're bloody relentless." he shook his head.

 

"I'm hopeful, there's a difference. Plus you're no fuuuuuun," Ariel shook his arm as she dragged out the word to emphasize her point and then slapped his chest. "Come on, go, be a man."

 

Killian looked at her. "You truly think it's wise for me to make my interest known given her current state?"

 

"Well...okay, so maybe not right this second, she definitely looks like she just had a crap day, but you could go make it better. Be her knight in shining armor."

 

Killian didn't know much about this angel he had been fortunate to come across all those months ago, but if there was one thing he could tell beyond a shadow of a doubt was that she was a tough lass if her demeanor and the power with which she brought lyrics to life showed him so. She was no damsel in distress, didn't need no rescuing. He was content to be her support, her shoulder for her to rest her head on when she was tired, perhaps the protector of her heart if she so allowed him to be. But he was getting too ahead of himself. 

 

They didn't even know each other's names, and yet he'd taken a strong fancy to her he hadn't thought possible with just her voice and nothing more, nothing less.

 

He was a goner, wasn't he?

 

"No." he decided.

 

"No?" Ariel echoed.

 

"But soon." Killian smiled and walked away, feeling a type of calm in the fact that by the end of this evening he would finally know her name.

 

CSCS

 

Emma sighed heavily as she plopped down on the uncomfortable wooden chair that for some weird reason no one in the entirety of their existence had thought to change in the numerous decades this library had still bravely been standing. It was a miracle really, how it hadn't crumbled yet, but with the amount of ferocity (that she wasn't proud of) she'd opened and closed the door she truly was grateful that this whole trip wasn't going to end up in her paying for repairs.

 

It was moments like those that tauntingly reminded her how impulsive she could be, how impulsive she'd been in the past, running and walking high on emotion and a heart that was constantly on her sleeve until she finally rolled her sleeve down and said that this was it, the last straw. The hurt had taken its toll and amongst a river of tears that had felt never ending she had convinced herself that being safe would be enough -it would HAVE to be enough if she didn't want to feel the hard-crushing disappointment again, if she didn't want to feel what it was like to open up and have that trust be broken, only to come out victor of taller walls that made it impossible for even her to tear down. 

 

It was almost too frightening, to see how damaged she was that she'd constructed an armor not even she could break sometimes.

 

Because then who could bring her back?

 

What hand would reach for her in the dark if she was too stuck?

 

Emma let the binder fall onto the equally wooden and slightly wobbling table with a light  _Thud_ and then sat back for a few minutes, just silently observing the design of the cover she'd decorated herself all those years ago when she believed music to be her calling. A small smile tugged at her lips, but it was one of sadness and remorse for what she'd given up, what she hadn't even tried to fight for. Amazing, wasn't it? Emma Swan had also managed to screw that up, and there it was, all her demons rising up to feed and laugh at the former dreams that had gotten lost along the path of pushing away the naive girl.

 

Her finger traced the black outline of the quarter note and then the eighth note, and she was transported back there again. To the empty theater she'd visited in November, nearly four months ago. She was sitting in front of the piano once more, and this time she did allow herself to play, to have that taste of the dream she could have followed if following her heart wasn't so hard -if following her heart didn't always lead to bad consequences. But she felt the keys underneath her fingertips and there was a comfort in that, the inkling that she'd just arrived home even though when she opened her eyes and froze her hands against the black and white keys she would still be the orphan she was when she came in. And as she let all she'd reigned in rain out with no one but the ghosts in her mind to listen, Emma began to-

 

"They're lovely." Emma's head snapped up to the silky and unfamiliar British voice that suddenly broke through her trance, and for a moment all she could do was just stupidly blink at her interrupter because...well, because  _fuck,_ he was hot. And he was also scratching behind his ear as he nodded to something -most likely her binder and the finger that had stilled when their eyes met- but she really didn't know because the shy smile he was sporting was making it impossible for her to think and feel anything else other than the butterflies that had risen up from the dead. He'd said something, hadn't he? Something...something, oh what the HELL, Emma, what's wrong with you? She shook her head, still dazed by this stranger when he said, "Were they drawn by your hand, love?"

 

"What?" she sounded confused. She WAS confused. Emma looked down and "Oh." he meant the music notes, this binder, its cover that she'd decorated, and that was it. That was the reminder she'd needed of why she was here, why she'd practically run through a California flood just to get here, why she was squirming uncomfortably in this goddamn chair with clothes that clung to her body, soaked and dripping water onto the carpet. Reality sunk in, but the anger wasn't there to fuel her anymore. Now all there was left was discouragement for the research she would have to do again, the mistakes she would have to correct, and the bright red F that would greet her once she pulled herself together -IF she even could pull herself together. 

 

"Tough day, lass?" he asked gently, and why did she want to confide in him when she saw actual concern etched into his features, as if he cared for her. She searched for the lie, but his gaze just burned with a sincerity she was scared of, fearfully enough, the strings of her crushed little organ told her it was okay to share, and when he continued to just stand there and wait as if he had all the time in the world to hear her answer, she wanted to get up and run as far away as she possibly could. Miles and miles that would take away the temptation of trusting someone again.

 

It was dangerous territory she was facing, and Emma couldn't believe how much a simple question could affect her. She stood up so quickly and swiped her binder off the table so fast that it was all a blur as she distractedly mumbled, "Uh, no, I think I'll go home." but what home was that? His blue pools reflected the storm she'd just walked in from, but that was the safest bet when the tears in her eyes stung as they did right now. Maybe it wasn't the question at all, maybe it was the person too.

 

Emma had seen him before.

 

She needed space, needed to breathe, and when she rushed to get that she bumped into the corner of the table and almost went sprawling forward if it weren't for the strong hand that caught her arm . A strong  _and calloused_ hand that she could imagine lacing fingers with. All these details registered, and yes, not only had she seen him before, but she'd also heard his voice before. Just once.

 

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

 

Emma snatched her arm back with more force than she'd meant to and took a step back, clutching the binder to her chest and swallowing thickly in her effort to keep up the facade that she was strong -not for him, but for her. She nodded a falsehood, barely convincing she knew, intent on leaving and regretting what a jerk she was later. 

 

Their hands brushed when she passed, the lightest touch, almost not there but so completely his skin and her skin.

 

It made her want to stay, so that's precisely why she left.

 

CSCS

 

Killian watched her blonde hair disappear into the flood. His jaw clenched for whoever had hurt this sunshine, and as Ariel shot him a sympathetic look, he wasn't thinking about his determination to get her name or another lost chance. Instead he was aching for the silent battle of indecision he'd witnessed. Her voice was so utterly different from the one he remembered in his dreams; it was closed off in distinction, he longed to hear the real her.

 

Somehow, Killian knew he'd stumbled into a rare moment in time where she'd let herself go, let her soul open up to the music that begged to be released -he was aware of that torment. Sometimes he, too, missed the lyrics that used to come like second nature, but his rare moments in time were naught but a prospect he was yet to fulfill.

 

Turning back to the spot she had left empty, a flash of white caught his eye and he bent down to pick up the abandoned paper.

 

"What's that?" Ariel asked curiously over his shoulder.

 

"Emma."

 

_Four months ago..._

 

_The guitar was heavy on his back, but it wasn't the instrument itself that weighed him down with such an intensity. He'd carried it enough times, it'd traveled with him to the various different houses they'd moved to over the years  -each new one dwindling whatever hope he had of making a home there, of setting down roots- and it had never once left his side where everyone else was concerned, so glued to it he was that it had grown to be a part of him, and he couldn't feel it as a burden._

 

_Rather it was his support, his friend that listened to the sad tune he strummed when his brother could no longer be his brother, but instead he was forced to become a guardian when it wasn't his time yet to worry about gathering bills left unpaid or whether or not they were going to eat dinner today. Liam had enough on his plate for Killian to uselessly vent about the lost love he'd foolishly believed could be forever, or the incredible surges of anger he'd sometimes get when he was alone and realized that despite the hurt of his abandonment he still held some degree of love for his father, or the terrible ache in his chest that he felt as though it would overtake his entire body and soul for the loss of a mother he couldn't stop mourning._

 

_He was at odds with it when he first picked it back up from the dust it was collecting in his closet and held it in his hands again since Liam's departure. It wasn't a foreign feeling exactly, to caress the strings or run his hand along the smoothness of the wooden reminder; he had begun to play less and less over the years where before he wouldn't allow a day to pass up the practice. Suddenly he was going weeks without it and months of never looking in its direction when finally it was sent for permanent residence in his closet on the eve of a hollow return from the hospital to a house that was empty and in vain without his brother to help him fill up the space._

 

_It wasn't the guitar's fault. It was the memories stored in it. But he'd made it so it was the guitar's fault when he searched for someone to blame for how quickly his life had spiraled, wrong and unfair, leaving him so utterly exhausted that there was no strength left to grasp to help him build it back up again._

 

_Taking a deep breath, Killian clutched the handle of the door with a steady grip that surprised him considering the assault of remembering so much that he had pushed down into the deepest, darkest corners of himself, forbidding them to come out so very vividly and spring up tears to the eyes that were tired of crying. He opened it quietly and closed it softly behind him when he stepped inside into the almost pitch black of the University's theater. It was vacant at the moment, no other lost spirit craving closure and understanding at three in the morning. No one else that was missing an important part of themselves and needing to finally expose it into the air when surviving had finally taken its toll while staring at a grey ceiling, and it was necessary that he feel and breathe the music again no matter how long he'd been gone._

 

_Only a soft low glow of yellow light illuminated the path to the stage, but for the majority he was obscured in darkness and as strange as it was, he found solace here, right now, simply by taking the step in and deciding to let his feet lead him where they may. His fingers drummed nervously at his side, and when he turned around to commence his walk down the stairs, he heard it._

 

_The first stroke of a key, sharp and defining and echoing in the space he had frozen and was encompassed by._

 

_Then another, a mirror of the previous, but suddenly more ready, more powerful in its projection and a sweet, chilling noise that reverberated in the air, kind of hesitant in its approach and its haunting jumping from one wall to the other as it sped up and then died abruptly._

 

_He moved closer._

 

_And then he heard HER._

 

_A voice he did not recognize, but was pulled in by like gravity did to all the dreamers._

 

_" **I know I have issues,**_

_**I face them, I swear,** _

_**Think I overcome them,** _

_**Then turn -they're still there.** "_

 

_She sighed. Killian knew that sigh; it had escaped his lips many times before. It revealed a defeat and spoke of a tired that went beyond a late night out. A tired that went right down to the bones._

 

_" **Wish that I was different,**_

_**I'd like to let go,** _

_**But when I try to change,** _

_**There's my past saying no...** "_

 

_As quietly as he could, he set his backpack down to let the guitar inside rest against the arms of the seat. Then, doing his best to stay invisible, he took a seat on the stair he'd stopped and leaned forward with his elbows prompted on his knees, completely captivated by this girl and the voice that sang of an undeniable pain._

 

_" **When you felt so alone since the moment of birth,**_

_**And you've struggled to find your own true sense of worth,** _

_**When it seems there is no one across this whole earth to depend upon,** _

_**You carry on just like you always do...** "_

 

_Her body moved with each key touched, hands practically flying against the black and white that his eyes struggled to follow. But his ears were there, memorizing._

 

_" **When you once, unafraid, wore your heart on your sleeve,**_

_**And the ones that you love chose to just turn and leave..."** _

 

_He didn't need to see her face to know that there was anguish there. It was raw, and it was pure. Her eyes were closed but his were wide open, and how had he gotten here?_

 

_" **Every day it gets harder to somehow believe you will survive, so you strive just to keep your guard up...** "_

 

_A tear slid down his cheek. For once he didn't wipe it away._

 

_" **Cause it's safer to hold every card.**_

_**Oh it's safer to hold every card...** "_

 

_The fear he'd had of being nothing on the inside but a drought was erased with every lyric that came out of her mouth, and from a distance, you wouldn't be able to tell she'd erupted a flood. But "_   Bloody hell..."  _she had._

 

_Oh._

 

_She had._

 

CSCS

 

Emma stared at the white ceiling hours later after her escape. Not much had changed in the time she'd climbed into bed and tried to forget about her reaction to the shy smile and the innocent question that shouldn't have sent her running -but mostly she'd tried to forget about  _him._ Those blue depths she could easily get lost in, the gaze that only bestowed on her honesty and a care that made her walls tremble with the dread that he would re-open old wounds that...now that she thought about it, perhaps she'd still always been on edge and kept herself only half stitched so that she would always have something that would stop her from taking the chance. 

 

Emma sighed tiredly, her stubborn mind not letting her stray too far from the loaded moment that had settled into her heart, her hand still tingling from the spark that'd surged when his fingers and hers had accidentally brushed and then were left in suspense of an air that held their still reaching out for the smallest and longest of seconds.

 

The binder had been disregarded on her nightstand and she refused to even look at it. Not much had changed, but the soft thumping on her window and occasional roar of the thunder and jarring strike of the lightning was the strong indication that the storm had grown restless while she remained stuck in the memory of a calloused skin.

 

Not much had changed, but yet everything had.

 

In an instant, in a touch.

 

Why couldn't she forget him?

 

_3 months ago..._

 

_She had developed this habit ever since she'd given into the overwhelming urge to play again. That night had left its mark, and she'd cursed herself everyday after for being so weak. What happened to the promise of never singing, if it meant she would have to be vulnerable? As sad as it was to admit, Emma couldn't even be vulnerable with herself in the quietness of a room where no one but her would hear the muffled sobs into a pillow. But she'd done so much of that already, half of her childhood was tainted by the tears that were her only constant and the moon her only friend. She'd gotten so, so good at holding it in, her face an unbreakable mask, that now...it was a challenge to let it out, and Emma had no idea of where to even start._

 

_Still._

 

_She'd broken her one promise -fragile at best, but she'd done what she had to do to move on from the piece in her history that'd only delivered sadness and a bitter aftertaste, planted new scars and gave her a learning experience she hadn't asked for._

 

_So if sometimes she missed the escape music had brought her, Emma would did everything in her willpower to shove it down. And she'd succeeded so far in her quest, but what was that saying again: you always come back to what you need...?_

 

_Her feet proved that in all its truth, didn't it? Considering that for the 15th time they had led her to the same place without her mind's permission. Her heart though...that was another matter she didn't want to access too closely. Because if she did, she wouldn't just stand in front of the threshold. No, Emma would give into what she needed and sit for hours at the piano bench, playing and playing until her forearms burned with a soreness and her entire body screamed tired -hence why she hesitated. She wouldn't be able to stop if she gave in._

 

_Except today was different._

 

_There was the same old reasons, same old excuses, but that voice...Emma pressed her back into the wall and listened._

 

_" **Oh-oh-oh...**_

_**And oh-oh-oh...** "_

 

_He began strumming, and though the rhythm sounded a bit off and uncertain, Emma immediately went still and focused on the words that rang both loud and quiet._

 

_" **You weren't supposed to creep under my skin,**_

_**You weren't supposed to creep into this hurting heart,** _

_**You deserve more than what I've been...** "_

 

_The hallway was empty, and with just him on the other side, every emotion was clear and sent a straight chill down her spine at the feelings he was unknowingly evoking. She should go. He was composing this for someone else._ Obviously.

 

_" **And I promised I'd do my best,**_

_**Wouldn't fall back to those old ways,** _

_**Wouldn't let my demons tear me apart again,** _

_**But I hope you understand,** _

_**I am a broken man,** _

_**And would it change everything?** _

_**Just know...** _

_**Just know I don't mean to hurt you, darling...** "_

 

_With each breath he took, Emma faded deeper into the wall, disappearing into a haze where she finally stopped thinking and only he- this stranger-made sense in her wary swimming._

 

_" **So can you let our hearts beat as two?**_

_**Can I whisk you away where your fears fall away?** _

_**Can you understand that I'm less of a broken man,** _

_**And my golden girl, your hand is the hardest to hold when you're already brave on your own...** "_

 

_This was for someone else. All he was pouring into those lyrics was for someone else. Whoever this golden girl was...why was Emma jealous of her? Why did she care?_

 

_Shit, why was she even still here?_

 

_Maybe because he was like a mirror despite not having seen him,_ seen him.  _His voice said enough: an unrequited love. Here he was loving a guarded girl. Lost and immersed, and she adored that feeling above all things._

 

_" **Years ago a fire burned in my soul,**_

_**I searched for a home...** "_

 

_"Me too." she whispered._ _"_

 

_" **And my golden girl, could I find it in you?** "_

 

_Emma didn't know._

 

_She just knew that her walls had come down for this song, and for the golden girl who couldn't respond._

 

_Damn him, and damn her for staying when she could have kept hiding._

 

_But that was a lie._

 

_She didn't want to damn him. She wanted to know his name._

 

Emma didn't expect to see him again.

 

Third time couldn't be the charm.

 

But maybe she was already charmed.

 

CSCS

 

Killian fiddled with the keys in his pocket as he climbed up the concrete steps while his heart and mind fiddle with the name he know has.  _Emma._ Emma Swan, to be exact. Her name is Emma, and he thinks he is a right bloody fool for not having chased after her, yesterday and all those months ago.

 

But how could he?

 

That night he hadn't even played the guitar at all. Instead he'd witnessed his hope appear and disappear all at once, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit that it was all due to her -this woman who'd somehow awoken the sleeping fragments of his heart and then left him bloody terrified with the notion that perhaps it wasn't too late for him. Perhaps he could start living again -and even more than that, perhaps he WANTED to.

 

He'd sat there for hours later, caught in this internal battle whether he should finally let go of the memories and affliction he held onto like a lifeline. Because who would he be without them?  _Happy,_ some voice had whispered, and deep down he knew this to be true. It had simply been the possibility, the  _fear_ that it could be real, that had kept him away from ever taking the chance. And oddly, he felt Emma could understand this. Somehow, someway, he knew she was kindred. There was a desire in him that couldn't be quenched. The desire to know her thoughts, her days, her entire body and soul. To know what haunted her, what caused her agony, what made her heart throb in a way that left her gasping for air, so that he would take her still freshly hurting pieces and breathe life to them again just as she had unknowingly done for him -opened his heart to everything he thought to be dead and done.

 

If only she allowed it.

 

If only Emma Swan realized there was a hand reaching for her in the dark.

 

Yet he just had her name, and it didn't suffice. He wanted more, needed more, and there was no way to explain how finding her in dreams and a few encounters wasn't enough to maintain him afloat. Killian was tired of waiting, tired of playing it safe. She'd done something unimaginable. She'd brought beating to the otherwise numb organ, and restored meaning at a time when he was certain he'd forgotten how to feel, so how could he go back to the life he had led?

 

It had taken another three weeks for him to gather the courage to play again, but when he did, she was there. In every string he plucked, in every chord he strummed, and in the song he forged for the girl who'd shifted his entire existence. His entire world, for that matter. And she had no idea, how powerful her voice could be. So much so that for the first time in a very long time, Killian actually believed there could be healing, there could be peace, there could be something beyond the emptiness he'd grown too accustomed to.

 

Now it just felt right. 

 

Now all he wished was to-

 

"Hi."

 

Killian's head snapped up so fast it was a miracle nothing cracked. For a moment he thinks it isn't her, it can't be her -it can't be  _his_ Emma- standing under the light drizzle of the following morning at the entry doors of the ancient library. He almost has to refrain the words  _Golden Girl_ from falling off his lips because despite the rain that pours and rise of the sun obscured by the remnant of gray clouds, she is sunlight itself. Blinding and all consuming.

 

He blinks, shocked. "Hi," he tries and has to shake his head a little. Suddenly every word is lost to him and everyone who once said he was an eloquent speaker is full of shit because he certainly isn't that now. In the presence of Emma Swan, he is speechless, and all he can truly see is the bright red leather jacket she wears. She's...well, she's beautiful and he still hasn't uttered a sentence. "Um," Killian clears his throat and takes a step forward, unintentionally backing her into the door. "Hi," he repeats, and wow is she even more stunning up close. He's arrested and he can't pull away. Her eyes are so green -the forest kind, the type he would run into and never find his way out of because it was just so thick, so full of stories and memories and a secret part of herself she hasn't yet let him love. "You came back." he finally says, and she smiles up at him.

 

It's a small, shy little thing, but he swears he can see hope in those two little corners.

 

"Yeah," she breathed, her lips inches from his. The two emeralds meet his dazed gaze and reflected in front of her is still a broken man. But maybe that's okay, because with her he becomes a little less broken. She's cautious, and he can tell she's searching for something until she finally whispers, "Can we start over?"

 

"No."

 

No because he likes their beginning.

 

He likes that her voice inspired him to feel again, and though she may not know that yet, he wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

 

He just really likes her.

 

"No?" she repeats confused, and he simply shakes his head smiling. There's just no way to explain how she's changed everything. Given time, perhaps, but then again he might also never finish realizing how much she's saved him already.

 

"No." he confirms.

 

When their foreheads came to rest on each other, he doesn't know. He just knows that the continuing rain is a background noise, but she is his comfort now. He is filled with her on all sides, and if she looked up, if he leaned down, he would taste her. Without a doubt, their lips would fuse, their breath would intermingle, and he wants that. But he also wants to let her decide. He wants to be her choice as he has chosen her. Her hands are gentle where they hold onto his shoulders, gripping lightly on the material, as if she too is unbalanced. As if she too knows this is the dawn of a chance they are both about to take. 

 

And right here, right now in this touch, there's a future.

 

"I'm Emma by the way."

 

"Killian Jones," he responds easily and tightens his arms around her waist. She rubs her nose against his, lips parted and hesitant.

 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Emma." She grins.

 

"Likewise, Killian."

 

They don't kiss.

 

They just stand there in the rain, memorizing this forever, and very soon, somewhere down the road, they will cut the distance. But not today. Today there is only shy smiles in a flood that's not a flood. It is a drizzle that falls down on them, and it has never warmed Killian more.

 

Because for now, they are still broken.

 

For now, there is still gaping scars.

 

But for now, just being this close is enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> -I wanted to end this on the promise of healing, so I hope I was able to come through. There is some unfinished things but that was intentional, but I hope you liked it.
> 
> -Song: Safer  
> By: Krysta Rodriguez 
> 
> -Thanks for reading!


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